


Evil Geniuses

by mister_otter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cute Kids, F/M, HP: EWE, Happy Ending, Humor, Romance, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 13:38:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11082699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mister_otter/pseuds/mister_otter
Summary: Draco’s plans for a private evening with Hermione go curiously awry.





	Evil Geniuses

**Author's Note:**

> Written several years ago for the last-ever DMHG Fic Exchange. A wealth of gratitude, as always, to my lovely beta, eilonwy
> 
> Disclaimer: Based on characters and concepts belonging to J.K. Rowling.

Evil Geniuses

Draco Malfoy placed his mobile squarely in the middle of his polished desk and hit the ‘speaker’ button. Leaning back in his chair, he smiled as Hermione Granger’s voice filled the office. 

Ten years stretched between this autumn afternoon and Voldemort’s defeat. Each passing day had brought another change for Draco, another chance to distance himself from the bad tempered, son-of-a-Death-Eater he’d been as a school boy. 

His mobile was just one of those changes. Minor to be sure, but if Draco closed his eyes, it allowed him to imagine Hermione standing in front of him. Far more stimulating than seeing her pretty face distorted by the embers of an old-fashioned Floo.

“Hullo, Hermione,” he spoke softly, her name sliding over his tongue like the taste of fine wine. “Where are you today?”

“I’m _home,’_ she replied excitedly. “My trip to Japan was called off, for now. And I thought… on the off chance that you are free, we might see each other this evening?”

Draco sat up in his chair, intrigued by the scenario unfolding in his mind like the Muggle film Hermione had taken him to see on their first date. He could picture her oh-so-clearly, lying on his bed, dressed in filmy lingerie that it would be his very great pleasure to remove…

“I’m glad you called,” he replied. “By an unbelievable stroke of good fortune, I have no dinner engagement, no business meeting, not one bloody thing on my social calendar for tonight. I’m all yours. And I mean that, quite literally,” he added, his voice dropping to a caressing growl.

“I like the sound of that.” Hermione’s response held the hint of a purr. “ _Whatever_ shall we do, then?”

”For starters, I suggest dinner at eight. At my place. I’ll have Potiphar whip up a crème brulée, just for you.”

“That sounds lovely, Draco. I’ll look forward to it.”

“‘Til tonight, then.”

”Yes.”

Draco ended the call and rose from his desk, crossing to the window to stare out at the strangely warm autumn day. Rainstorms were forecast for later. He smiled in anticipation. Storms could be very… mood enhancing. 

He needed to get back to work, but for the moment, he was content to linger at the window, lost in vivid daydreams..

So many changes in the wizarding world, so many changes in his own life. The students from his Hogwarts years had grown into adults—pairing off, starting careers, having children. 

For him, adulthood meant purchasing his own home in Edinburgh, then throwing himself headlong into the family business, leaving little time for anything beyond casual dating relationships. In fact, he’d had no interest in starting something serious until two months ago, when he’d begun to see Hermione Granger. 

Like a long-simmering idea whose time has finally come, the two of them together felt intriguingly _right._

But he and Granger were busy people. Frustrating weeks had passed before they’d finally managed to mesh their schedules for a first dinner date. And the mad game of catch-me-free tag continued. Still, there’d been coffee together and the odd lunch here and there, all punctuated by moments of dawning realization. It was time, when time permitted, to take things between them to the next level. 

“Tonight.” Draco saluted the autumn day outside his window, turning toward his desk just as the fireplace crackled to life. Gregory Goyle’s broad, earnest face appeared in the Floo.

“Draco! I’m glad I caught you in. I’ve an emergency and…” Draco waited patiently while Goyle struggled to formulate his thoughts. “I was wondering if… well, could you keep Angus for me tonight?”

Draco quickly schooled his features to cover his dismay. Tonight—Hermione. But there was no way he could refuse his oldest friend. Especially now... 

“I…I wouldn’t have bothered you, Draco. But you know there’s no one else I can ask.”

No one, indeed. Five years ago, Kadi Goyle had gone into labor prematurely—and died, leaving Greg to raise their tiny son alone. For Greg, the sun rose and set on his boy. He trusted almost no one with the child’s care.

“His nanny…” Draco made one last, feeble stand for his date with Hermione.

“Quit when I told her I’d be away overnight. Third nanny in six months.” Greg shook his head. “She said Angus is _incorrigible_. I told her of course he’s bloody incorrigible. He’s just like his da!” 

Draco hid a smile while the wheels of his mind turned rapidly. A temporary nanny… easily arranged for. His home was large, with a nursery wing. The dinner date with Hermione need not be postponed. 

To Goyle he said simply, “Of course, Angus may come. I’ll take care of everything.”

Relief crackled across the embers of Goyle’s face. “Draco,” he asked. “Do you suppose that tomorrow, you could show Angus a few flying tips? I’ve been trying to teach him myself, but you sit a broom better than I do.…We’ve got to start now, if he’s gonna grow up to be the Beater that I was.”

A shadow flitted across Draco’s features, quickly hidden from his friend. “I’ll do my best,” he replied. “The storms should be over by morning.” 

 

*

As Draco put the finishing touches on his preparations for the evening, a knock sounded at the door to his bedroom suite.

“Come,” he called and the door swung inward, revealing the neat, elegant form of Draco’s butler, Hamilton, who doubled as valet.

Hamilton’s nose crinkled as he entered the room. He made a swift, fanning motion with one precise hand. “Sir, if I might offer a tiny suggestion…a bit _less_ of the gentlemen’s cologne? You want to intrigue Miss Granger, not asphyxiate her.”

Draco sighed. Hamilton had been with him ever since he’d acquired the Edinburgh house, and the butler was worth his weight in Galleons. But he sometimes treated his employer like an overgrown child. Draco stopped himself just before rolling his eyes at Hamilton. It wouldn’t do to reinforce that opinion. 

Aloud, he said, “Very well, Hamilton If you don’t mind…?”

“I never mind, sir.” The unflappable butler stepped forward, waved his wand over Draco, and muttered a quick _Dilutium_ charm. 

He then sniffed the air and nodded approvingly. “Much better. And sir… I’ve had a Floo message. Your _other_ guests for the evening should be arriving in the foyer as we speak.” Hamilton’s face was impassive, his eyebrows expressive. “If you should need me, I’ll be in the dining room, ensuring all is in order for your dinner with Miss Granger.”

Draco sighed and cursed under his breath. Slipping into his jacket, he strode into the hall, on his way to greet his _other_ guests.

As he descended the main staircase, he couldn’t help but grin appreciatively. Standing in the foyer was a willowy blonde dressed in a snug blouse and sleek, black skirt. At her side a small boy stood scowling, the lenses of his tiny eyeglasses winking in the light of the foyer chandelier. 

“Hullo, Angus.” Draco walked forward and ruffled his godson’s silky, dark hair.

“Good evening, Mr. Malfoy,” the blonde purred, stepping between Draco and the boy. “I’m Amanda Pattison, your nanny for the weekend. Of course, you already know Master Angus.” She gave Draco a flirtatious smile and extended one slender, ruby-nailed hand. 

Behind Miss Pattison’s back, Angus’s scowl deepened. He gazed at the nanny with intense dislike, cocking one eyebrow ever so slightly.

As Draco reached to take her hand, there was a series of startling _pops._ The buttons of Miss Pattison’s blouse suddenly flew off in all directions, pinging against the walls and stone flagging with the force of small missiles. She gasped as her blouse fell open, exposing a lacy push-up bra that barely covered her lush breasts. 

Seconds later, one single, distinctive _pop_ announced the arrival of Hermione for her dinner date. Her eyes widened at the sight of the pretty woman standing in Draco’s foyer with her breasts exposed, but there was no time to comment. Both women shrieked, ducking to dodge the flying buttons, and their heads knocked painfully together. 

Moaning, Miss Pattison staggered and clutched her forehead. At the same moment, her lacy, pink knickers slithered to her ankles. 

“Oh! You… you _pervert_!” she screamed in Draco’s general direction, struggling to cover her breasts with one hand and pull up her knickers with the other. 

“It wasn’t… I did _not_ …” Draco’s protestations of innocence went unheard as Hermione yelped loudly, struck on the nose by a ricocheting button. 

The chaos in the foyer was suddenly drowned out by a rumble of thunder, signaling the arrival of the long-brewing rainstorm. From somewhere deep within the house, a mournful wail erupted.

“Oh, gods, _no_ —“ Draco muttered. “Scaramouche…”

Like the keen of a banshee, the sound rose in intensity, coming closer and closer, accompanied by the scrabbling of claws on stone. A gigantic Deerhound burst into the foyer, his nails tapping out a frantic fandango, fear of storms his only dance partner. 

Eyes rolling, stinking of damp fur, the dog struggled to climb up Draco’s body and into his arms. 

“Down, Scaramouche! _Down_ , I say!” Draco shouted, shoving at his pet as muddy pawprints appeared like magic across his white dress shirt. “Hamilton!” he bellowed. “Hamilton! Come and get this bloody dog!”

Hamilton raced into the foyer, but not in time. As the thunder died away Scaramouche turned his attention to welcoming Draco’s guests—leaping first at Hermione and leaving smears of brown mud across her elegant cocktail dress. 

He then spied Miss Pattison, who’d somehow managed to tangle her knickers in the stiletto heel of one shoe and was bent over, struggling to free them. Loping across the foyer, Scaramouche licked her face, snuffled her arse, then grabbed the knickers, yanking them free and knocking their owner sideways. She promptly fell against Hermione and both women went down. 

Shaking and shrieking incoherently about foul-smelling beasts and the horrid, lascivious men who own them, the nanny leaped to her feet and Apparated away. 

Immediately, her buttons stopped pinging and fell to the floor. Utter quiet descended on the foyer.

Hamilton succeeded in collaring Scaramouche, who still had the knickers dangling from one corner of his mouth. 

“Sir…” The butler tugged delicately at the pink lace, a look of distaste crinkling his features as he turned to Draco for direction. Scaramouche refused to relinquish his prize. 

“Let him keep them,” Draco said wearily, as he bent to help Hermione to her feet. “It’s unlikely that Miss Pattison would want them back now.”

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Hermione nodded, managing a smile as she brushed at the mud on her dress. “One quick _Scourgify,_ and I will be. But—what just happened?”

“I’m not entirely sure. But I think I know someone who can tell us.” Draco turned to face his young charge, who sat quiet as a mouse in a chair to one side of the foyer. 

“Angus Achilles Goyle.” His voice stern, Draco stared at Angus, who stared back, his deep-set, dark eyes bright behind the lenses of his tiny glasses. “Come _here.”_

“Yes, Uncle Malfoy.” With a heavy _thunk,_ Angus lowered himself to the floor and limped slowly forward, his left leg encased from knee to ankle in a slender, metal brace.

Hermione gave Draco a startled look, and her heart turned over. But Draco was staring down at the child, his face thunderous and solemn. 

Several moments passed. In the end, Draco merely sighed and shook his head. “Angus. It will be _your_ job to locate all of Miss Pattison’s buttons.”

Angus nodded in agreement and gazed around the foyer with a small smile. “Uncle Malfoy, do you suppose I might keep just _one_ of them? I think I’d like to start a button collection.”

*

Draco had long suspected that his small godson was an evil, five-year-old genius, but tonight’s events had proven it beyond any shadow of doubt. 

In spite of an urgent owl message to the agency that had supplied the nanny, no replacement would be forthcoming. Instead, Draco was informed that he would be lucky to escape charges of sexual harassment—except that the agency was well acquainted with  
Young Master Goyle, and its employees considered him completely incorrigible.

Now Draco lounged in a wing chair in his cozy library, nursing a stiff firewhiskey. On the sofa before the low fire, Hermione sipped white wine while Angus, seated opposite, matched them drink for drink from his tumbler of milk. Scaramouche lay beside Angus, casting longing looks at the remains of the boy’s supper.

It occurred to Hermione that the four of them made a strange quartet, almost like a small family enjoying an evening of domestic bliss. Except that the couple in question was still attempting to _become_ a couple, and the child in question belonged to neither of them. Was, in fact, in a fair bit of hot water…

Draco broke the silence first. “Angus,” he began. “What you did this evening was very…”

“Naughty,” Angus replied, feeding Scaramouche a bite of apple tart. “But Miss Pattison’s perfume made my nose itch. And that’s not all. She told me I’d best not misbehave over the weekend, and she pinched my arm really hard. Then she used her wand to disappear the red spot.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Draco asked, outraged on the boy’s behalf

Angus shrugged. “Because I told Papa that Miss Herrington, two nannies ago, did the pinching thing. I couldn’t very well use the same story twice.”

“Was it true the first time?”

Angus wrinkled his tiny, freckled nose. “No, but it was this time. I guess that’s what I get for telling lies.” He knocked back the last of his milk.

“Have you learned a lesson about lying, then?”

“Probably not,” Angus replied matter-of-factly. “Sometimes it just comes in handy, you know?”

Draco hid his grin behind a sip of whiskey. His godson was indeed incorrigible. He had to admit it was a trait he rather admired. 

Standing up, he held out one hand. “Since you have no nanny to enforce your father’s bedtime rule, Miss Granger and I shall have to be the ones to do it. Come along.”

Angus sighed in disgust, then slipped from his chair to the floor. Limping across the carpet, he slid his hand into Draco’s. 

”Uncle Malfoy, couldn’t the three of us play a game of wizarding poker? And if I win, I get to stay up until ten o’clock?”

“Absolutely not. And who taught you to play wizarding poker?”

“Nobody. But sometimes I sneak down and sit on the stairs to watch Papa and his friends. I’ve learned a lot of really good swear words that way. Especially when you are playing. Miss Granger, would you like to hear what Uncle Malfoy…”

“No, she _wouldn’t,_ ” Draco interrupted, while Hermione hid a grin of her own.

“I would never have guessed you could swear fluently, Draco,” she chuckled, slipping her hand into Angus’ free one. “Come along, young man,” she addressed him. “I’ll tell _you_ a bedtime story. About a clever young witch who bravely fought a troll, in a bathroom.” 

Angus accepted her hand. “That sounds like a good story.” Then, “Miss Granger, do you have any tattoos? I noticed Miss Pattison had the word _hot_ tattooed above her left ti…”

”Angus.”

*

Draco and Hermione sat before the library fire once again, side by side on the sofa this time. Hamilton had been pressed into service as nanny-for-a-night, and Scaramouche lay stretched out on the rug beside Angus’ bed upstairs in the nursery, loyally standing guard. 

Dinner for two had been consumed down to the last drop of crème brulée. Now the fire crackled softly as rain gusted against the window. It was a night made for romance. Provided the peace held. 

“Draco.” Hermione broke the pleasant silence. “I’m aware that Goyle is raising his son alone, but I didn’t realize… would you tell me about Angus?”

“You never knew Kadi, did you?” Draco asked in response, and Hermione shook her head. “She was three years down from us at Hogwarts, quiet, funny, bright. She was so good for Greg—and he worshipped her. No one suspected… her heart… it just stopped.”

Hermione made a sympathetic murmur and Draco continued. “When Angus began to walk, it was obvious that one of his legs wasn’t right. The healers at St. Mungo’s said there’s little to be done until he’s older. But while he was in hospital, they noticed some rather unique behavior. Ran a battery of tests and discovered he’s quite brilliant, both mentally and magically.” 

“ _Precocious_ would be the word,” Hermione added with a smile. 

“Perfect fit. A miniature, evil genius.” Draco grinned. “Even the Ministry hasn’t known what to do with him. Luckily, they’ve decided to be lenient on the use of underage magic by one so gifted. I helped Greg persuade them that simple observation and monitoring of Angus’s unhindered development would be worth their while. A valuable form of research.”

“Goyle is lucky to have you for a good friend,” Hermione told him. 

Draco chuckled. “Angus is so damned appealing that it’s hard to correct him without laughing. I admit there’s a part of me that always looks forward to seeing what he’ll do next.”

His comment, like so many things about this evening, surprised Hermione. She’d found Draco’s interaction with Angus both amusing and impressive, showing a side of him she’d not seen before. A Draco Malfoy who liked children was a bit of a revelation.

_We’re all grown up_ Hermione thought. _And how we’ve changed._ She smiled to herself, unaware that in the glow of the firelight, she looked lovely and appealing. She turned her head toward Draco to find he’d shifted sideways on the sofa and was studying her with a look that made her breath catch.

“Hermione,’ he said, the timbre of his voice reminding her of their original plans for the evening.

Draco reached for her then, his thumb gliding across Hermione’s cheek, his long fingers caressing her neck and tangling in her hair. Pulling her close, he leaned in to kiss her. The taste of wine and whiskey mingled on their tongues. They kissed deeply for several delicious minutes, breathing in tandem as desire ignited. Draco cupped Hermione’s breast, her nipple rising at his touch. She arched toward him with a softly voiced _mmm._

“It seems… there’s more than one evil genius in this house,” she murmured into Draco’s mouth.

“That, and one of us is fluent in orgasm, too,” he chuckled softly.

Her answering chuckle was low, throaty. “Malfoy, what a line.” 

“The simple truth, love. Let me show you…” He bit her neck as his fingers brushed the silken skin of her inner thigh, finding the crotch of her knickers and hovering there in unspoken question.

Hermione’s eyelids fluttered closed. “Draco, _yes,”_ she breathed. “But shouldn’t we…”

“Continue this upstairs… in the privacy of my bedroom?”

“Let’s.”

The disorienting click of doggie claws informed them that they’d left it a bit too late. Scaramouche’s long, shaggy head appeared over the back of the sofa just as Draco’s own head shot up, his hands moving away from Hermione in the nick of time. 

He glared at Angus as the child popped up beside the Deerhound.

“Uncle Malfoy,” Angus began. “I came to tell you that I enjoyed Miss Granger’s bedtime story very much. But I think the troll in it gave Scaramouche a nightmare.”

“Where is _Hamilton?”_ Draco growled.

”Right here, sir.” The butler hurried into the room, his voice breathless. “I was dozing in the rocker. My shoe laces… Master Angus must have… Worst knot I’ve ever seen. Even my best spells wouldn’t undo it easily.”

Draco sighed and stood up. “It wasn’t Miss Granger’s story that frightened Scaramouche, Angus. He’s afraid of thunder. Now, let’s get you a glass of water and Hamilton will put you back into bed.”

“Couldn’t…couldn’t you and Miss Granger do it? I mean… with Miss Granger here, it’s almost like having a really nice auntie to tuck me in. She’s better than a nanny. More like a real mum.”

Draco gave Hermione a startled look, but she merely smiled. “Of course we can do it, Angus.” She had no doubt she was being played a wee bit, but it was a very sweet form of manipulation. “No troll stories this time, though.”

“Do you know any about a potions maker? That’s what I want to be when I grow up.”

“As a matter of fact, I do. His name was Professor Severus Snape, and he was absolutely the most brilliant potioneer….”

*

Holding hands, Draco and Hermione descended the staircase once again. Angus was sleeping soundly this time. Even Hamilton lay tucked up in a trundle bed in the corner of the nursery, having listened intently to an imaginary tale of Professor Snape, his flying carpet, and a potion ingredient expedition to Tibet, where a snow leopard guarded a chest of magical yak dung.

“For someone who grew up an only child, you have a clear understanding of what pleases small boys,” Draco teased.

“But I didn’t exactly grow up an only child. Once I got to Hogwarts, there were Harry and Ron,” she told him, laughing. 

“Time for a nightcap, then?” Draco asked. “We can start the evening over…”

“Draco.” Hermione’s hesitancy was plain in her voice. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d prefer a cup of coffee.”

Draco nodded and sighed, lips compressed into a tight line of disappointment as they made their way to the kitchen. Waving his wand, he set a pot of coffee to brewing and then leaned wearily against the granite countertop. 

“It’s just not working, is it?” he asked. “This. I mean, _us._ Our evening together. Too many bloody interruptions!”

Hermione laughed softly. “I think it’s working out just fine,” she soothed. “Angus is where he needs to be, and you and I… Draco, you know my answer is _yes,_ to everything you had planned for this evening. But I’m not sure our timing is right.”

Draco ran one hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration and let out a long breath.

“You’re correct. It isn’t. But we’ve been trying to get to this—to you and me—for some time now…”

“And we _will_. I’ve an idea. I think it would be worth both of us taking a holiday, a long weekend. We could go somewhere quiet. Private. Romantic. The Greek Isles? Prague? A village in Provence?”

Draco’s eyes lit up. “Clever, clever girl.” He reached for Hermione, just as an eerie, unearthly cry ripped through the night. 

The hair rose on Hermione’s arms.

“What on earth was that?” She shivered. “Not Scaramouche?” The cry reminded her of something almost otherworldly in its piercing intensity.

“No. That was no dog. Whatever it is, it’s _inside_ this house. Stay here,” Draco told her, as the cry came again.

“Not bloody likely!” she replied, as the two of them raced out of the kitchen and down the passageway leading to the formal entry hall. 

Except for one low-burning lamp, the house had been darkened in the hopes that lack of light would encourage Angus to stay in bed. Draco and Hermione crept forward slowly as the cry came a third time, eerily close. 

Wands drawn, they turned toward the staircase and saw, at the top of the stairs, a large, shadowy creature unlike anything they’d ever seen. With eight appendages thrusting from its torso, it resembled a gigantic spider or perhaps an odd sort of scorpion. The front two appendages waved in wild, threatening gestures. Then, with a horrific, crablike scuttle and another cry, the creature began to descend the stairs 

“What the fuck…!” Draco attempted to shove Hermione behind him while backing her toward the passageway for retreat. “Hermione, there’s a servant’s staircase just off the kitchen. See if you can go up that way and get Angus. I’ll stay here and…”

“Draco,” she replied frantically. “Look closer! That creature—I think it’s Scaramouche! But it’s also… Hamilton!”

“My god,” Draco whispered as realization dawned. “They’ve been _combined.”_

Howling eerily, the creature made it’s way to the bottom of the stairs. Draco raced toward it while Hermione cast a quick _Lumos._

In the brighter light, the combination was easy to see. Scaramouche’s four legs remained touching the ground, while Hamilton’s arms protruded from the dog’s shoulders, his own legs extending from the rear like an overly heavy tail. The face was an odd mix of both Hamilton’s and Scaramouche’s features. 

“Hamilton… can you speak?” Draco asked and a loud bark burst from the creature’s mouth. 

In spite of herself, Hermione smothered a giggle.

“No, not like that!” Draco groaned in exasperation. “Are you able to _talk_? We need to know what the bloody hell’s been done, so we can fix…”

“Uncle Malfoy.” A small, contrite voice sounded from the top of the stairs. “I can tell you exactly what happened.”

“Then, Master Angus Achilles Goyle, I suggest you get _down_ here immediately and begin doing so!” Draco growled.

Angus descended slowly, his hand gripping the banister for support and leverage, explaining as he climbed.

“Well, Hamilton and I were talking in our beds. I asked him if he’s an Animagus and he said no. So I asked if he would _like_ to be. Hamilton got really quiet for a minute, then he said…”—Angus’s voice mimicked the butler’s precise tones—“’As a boy, I used to dream of it.’ So, I decided to make Hamilton’s dream come true.” 

In spite of himself, Draco felt a smile forming.

Angus limped over to the man/dog creature and gently patted its head. “I thought it would be good for Scaramouche, too. At least ‘til the storm is over. After all, _Hamilton_ isn’t afraid of thunder.”

Draco burst into a fit of coughing that sounded suspiciously like a snort of laughter. He turned to Hermione, who was attempting to hide a smile behind strategically placed fingers. “Any ideas?” he asked.

“I think…this shouldn’t be too hard to reverse. An Untangling charm combined with an Anti-Entrapment spell should do the trick.”

“Would you do the honors?”

Moments later, Draco was helping Hamilton to his feet, while Scaramouche ran round the entry hall, barking excitedly.

“Hamilton, are you all right?” Draco began. “I’m very sorry…”

”All in a days work, sir,” Hamilton replied gamely, attempting to brush dog fur from his sleeves. “At least it wasn’t painful. Young Master Angus was only trying to fulfill a silly dream of mine. The boy can’t really be faulted for that—though, I will be careful what information I share with him in the future.” 

Draco clapped the butler on one shoulder. “You’re a good man, Hamilton. Now, why don’t get some rest?” He raised one eyebrow at Hermione and she nodded. “Miss Granger and I will take over from here.” 

*  
Hours later, Hermione opened her eyes to see silvery morning light slipping through the library windows. She and Draco were snuggled together on the sofa, her head pillowed against his shoulder. On a pallet before the dying fire, Angus slept, Scaramouche stretched full length beside him. Hermione smiled at the picture the boy and dog made.

She felt a gentle tug to one of her curls and turned to find Draco watching her. 

“Innocent as lambs,” she told him.

“Deceptively so,” he chuckled drowsily. Then, “One has to wonder, doesn’t one—what _our_ children would be like.”

” _Our_ children?”

“I mean, _your_ children, with whomever you choose to father them, and _my_ children, with their unknown, future mother.”

“Oh.”

”On the other hand, I see nothing wrong with the thought of you and me having mutual children someday. Though there’d need to be a spot of sex, first,” he teased.

“Holiday, Malfoy. Keep thinking ‘holiday.’ I’m leaning toward Provence…”

“Our theoretical children would be absolutely brilliant, you know,” he continued, nuzzling her neck. “Like you. Like me.” 

“Mmm.” She nestled against him. “That touch of evil genius _would_ add a certain something.”

Without warning, Hamilton appeared in the library doorway. The butler seemed rested, refreshed, and as crisply efficient as ever.

“Sir. So sorry to intrude upon you and Miss Granger, but you’ve a visitor waiting in the entry hall. I was just about to bring in the tea and coffee...”

Moments later, the doorway filled with the large, ponderous form of Gregory Goyle, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of his son sleeping before the fire.

“Hullo, Hermione.” Goyle nodded shyly. Then, “Draco, sorry for dropping by so early, but that emergency I told you about…it’s my mum-in-law. Kadi’s elderly mum. She’s taken badly ill and I was wondering…if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could Angus stay on here for a day or two?”

“Hamilton! Scaramouche! Did you _hear_ that?” Angus’s head popped up from the nest of blankets by the fire, his face beaming. “Papa says I get to stay with Uncle Malfoy and Auntie Granger! 

Goyle stepped across the room and hefted his small son into his arms, giving him a hug, “Ah. You’d like that, would you?”

“Yes! Hamilton and Scaramouche and I have been having _fun_ together, and I was thinking in the night…Hamilton, how would you like to become a snow leopard?”

Hamilton went down in a dead faint, the tea service he was carrying crashing and clattering on the wooden floorboards. Scaramouche, thinking the storm had returned, let out a loud yelp and galloped out of the room, knocking over a lamp.

Draco and Hermione looked at each other and grinned.

“Practical application?” he asked her. 

She nodded. “Best way to learn.” 

Draco turned to Greg with a smile. “Of course. Angus is welcome.”

 

FIN

Note: A tiny nod to Dicken’s Tiny Tim… And Scaramouche takes his name and fear of thunderstorms from Queen’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody,’ requested for inspiration by my recipient!


End file.
